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Wednesday, May 16, 2012

E.H.U.D.: Part 1, Chapter 1

E.H.U.D.

Prelude to
Apocalypse

By Hezekiah
Bennetts

30 Years From
Now

Part
I: Resurrection

Chapter 1

In the beginning,
there was darkness. At least, that was the first thing he could
remember. Other things slowly began to fill the void: the feel of
concrete beneath him, the chill of the air around him, the distant
shouts and cries of anguish as his soldiers fought on.

Through all of
this, Allen stood waiting. He knew he should be out there helping
them, swarming through the tunnels with the men and women devoted to
his cause. Every few moments, he could feel their minds touching
his, asking him why he didn’t help. But he couldn’t help,
couldn’t answer. All he could do was wait.

That seemed to be
what his life had been for the last… forever. Just waiting. To
take action would bring consequences; he couldn’t afford
consequences.

One particular mind
called out of the darkness, a strong mind, the one he had chosen to
replace him in the time to come. Where are you? There’s too
many… we don’t have the strength…

Now. Now was the
time to act. At this point, there were no consequences for his
actions; everything he did now was set, was preordained. Was right.
I’m coming…

There was no answer
he could give that would satisfy the others. His boots thudded as he
crossed the concrete expanse. Soon, he could feel a door in front of
him, could feel it opening. Beyond the door stood a man, old yet
muscular, his body standing erect in a military uniform even as his
eyes stared unseeingly into the void.

Allen touched the
man’s shoulder and smiled wistfully, even as the few remaining
minds railed painfully against his. “It’s time, old friend…”

“And that’s
when I wake up.” John Donalson was surprised at the sound of his
own voice. Once again, he had been caught up with the strength of
the vision, lost in its reality. He wondered how long it had been
since he had begun to tell the story…

“What makes you
think you’re awake now?” This voice didn’t surprise him. If
anything, it had the opposite effect, pulling him down, soothing and
smothering him in its rich, powerfully feminine tones.

He felt himself
shrug. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“You still have
your eyes closed.”

“Oh.”

Eyelids split, and
there was light. John found himself looking out at a blank world, a
swirling void of colors and fog. Below him, there was no ground,
above him no sky; there was only his body, bald and naked.

“And me; don’t
forget me.”

Yes, of course.
Floating close by was Suzanne, as bald and naked as he was. But
whereas he looked like a skinned rat, she looked like a goddess,
purple high-lights glinting off of her dark skin.

“Somehow, I don’t
think this is anymore awake than before. At least in the dream, I
had some frame of context.”

She gestured to the
void. “This isn’t contextual enough for you?”

“No. I have no
idea where I am, what I’m doing. And where are my clothes?”

Suzanne shrugged.

“And most
importantly, who are you?”

She shrugged again.
“How should I know? This is your mind; I didn’t choose
to be here.”

The revelation hit
John hard; around him, the swirling colors began to dim.

“Not that I
wouldn’t choose to be here, given the choice.”

Well, that was
better anyways.

They floated for a
while longer, John contemplating the void around him and Suzanne…
doing whatever it was that she did.

Suddenly, the
colors began to shift, to grow more vibrant, to coalesce into
recognizable shapes. At the same time, Suzanne began to fade.

“No! No, don’t
go; I can’t make it without you!”

“You have to
John.” Nothing remained now but a smile and the ghostly outline of
her face. “Just live life without me.”

He reached out to
touch her smile, but it was gone. “What do I do without you?”

Eyelids split, and
there was light. This time, there were few colors: pastel pinks,
mint greens. The shapes the colors adorned were strong and well
defined: glide rocker, dresser, Mother.

She hovered over
him, alternately rubbing his face and rubbing the tears from her own.
When she saw that his eyes were open, she smiled and held a hand to
her mouth. “Oh, thank you, God. Thank you for returning him…”

The words passed
around John. He stared up at his mother, trying to think of why she
was here, where here was.

She looked so old.

“Gnnrthhh…
Gh’gggg…” That wasn’t good.

“Shh, shhh…
Don’t try to talk, not yet. The nurse will be here soon.”

That answered
things. Little facts began to register: The little wires trailing
from his sleeve, the industrial fluorescents overhead, the terrible
buzzing that filled his head. God, what had happened?

The last thing he
could remember was driving home from a meeting with some clients. He
was on the road, he was full, he had had maybe one more drink than he
should have-- Oh.

Well. That was why
he was here, and where he was. But why did his mother look so old?

“Oh, John…
Oh….”

Suddenly, it didn’t
matter. The room was dull and warm, his mother was rubbing his face,
and he was so tired…

A day later, John
was sitting up in bed, his mother spoon-feeding him flavorless mush,
his father dozing in the glide rocker.

He had had to
reevaluate some of his earlier assumptions in the light of new
evidence. For one thing, his body had changed; his once thin, nearly
muscular build had been reduced to a point just shy of starvation,
pale skin stretched tight over bone and gristle. For another, his
father looked far older than he should; he had changed from a
well-kept fifty-something into a broken-down sixty-something
seemingly overnight. A drunken car accident didn’t cover this.

There was motion
near the door, and John tried to turn and see it, dribbling porridge
on his gown in the process.

“Oh, dear…
Levi, get me another napkin. Levi! Wake up!”

A woman, slightly
younger than his mother, entered the room and stood in front of John.
She smiled, her mouth growing far too wide for her face.

“Hello, John.
How are you feeling today? Good? If you can, please blink once for
yes, twice for no.”

John blinked.

“Good, very good.
Tell me, are you feeling well enough to talk?”

“Not right now,
doctor. He’s tired, he needs to eat—“

“Please, Mrs.
Donalson, let me do my job, thank you?”

Despite some
grumbled complaints, John’s mother wiped his mouth and stepped
aside so that he and the doctor were face-to-face.

“So, are you
feeling up for a talk?”

John blinked.

The doctor nodded.
“That is good, yes. My name is Doctor Chandra Shemuptura; I am a
physical therapist, with quite some experience in trauma counseling.
You know you are in a hospital, yes?”

John blinked.

“Now, what I am
going to tell you is why you are here. Some of it may be a bit hard
to take at first. If you find it is too much and wish to end our
talk, please just blink as many times as you can, and I will return
when you are feeling better. Agreed?”

John blinked.

“Good. It seems
that you were having a meeting with business associates at a
restaurant in Cherry Hill and on your way home you were involved in a
very severe car accident. You were hit head-on by an army officer
who was traveling the wrong way down the highway. Are you good so
far?”

John blinked. So
far, this all matched up nearly perfectly with his own assumptions.
The only thing he hadn’t anticipated was that he wasn’t
responsible for it.

“Would you like
to continue?”

John didn’t
blink. He held his eyes nearly closed, thinking. Based on what the
doctor had said, the way she was preceding so cautiously, the change
in himself and his parents, he knew the rest of the story wouldn’t
be nearly as easy to swallow as the first. But at the same time, the
little clues called out for him to solve them, to put this whole
little mystery to rest. With a sense that he had somehow made the
wrong decision, John firmly closed his eyes and opened them wide.

“EMTs arrived and
took the two of you to a nearby hospital for emergency treatment; you
were both rather bad off. And somehow, we’re still not sure how,
at that point your identity was confused with that of the officer,
Lieutenant Brian Udarian. In a rather cosmic coincidence, you two
both had very similar facial structures, the same blood type, similar
builds. What with the damage to your faces, no one could tell you
apart, and fingerprints and dental records were rather…” The
doctor paused, readjusted her glasses, cleared her throat. “Yes,
so, you were confused for each other. Once stabilized you, under the
name Brian Udarian, were transferred to the Walter-Reed Army Medical
Center in Washington. Before arrival, you fell into a coma. John
Donalson, the man once known as Lieutenant Udarian, unfortunately
never stabilized, and died some three hours after— “

The doctor stopped
abruptly as John began to blink back tears; no wonder his parents
looked so bad off. As far as they knew, he had been dead for… for
however long this coma had lasted. They weren’t a painfully
tight-knit family, but they were close enough, and the loss of a son,
even temporarily, would have shaken his parents. Images of funerals,
of nights spent crying with aunts or drinking with uncles flew
through his mind. He was at once touched and horrified at what their
reactions must have been to the news.

Someone- probably
the doctor- patted his arm, and then he heard her say, “Goodbye for
now, John. I will return when you are feeling better.”

No! No, the last
thing he needed was to be left like this, with the story hanging! He
had to know what happened. Now.

His parents could
probably tell him some of it. But mother was still too choked up at
his return, and father had never been a good story teller.

Opportunity faded
with every dull click of shoe leather against tile as the doctor
moved away.

With an effort,
John turned towards her and tried to speak. “D-dctrrrr…
Sssstttaaaaa….”

She turned, and
walked back towards him, then disappeared as mother cradled his head
and tried to move him back to a more comfortable position.

“Oh, John,
please, no, don’t strain yourself.”

Hands appeared on
her shoulders. She stiffened and continued to stare at her son.

“Levi, now is not
the time—“

“Marge.”
Father’s hands slid down and rested on Mother’s, then pulled them
away from John. “Let the boy be. He’s been through a lot, and
it looks like he wants to go through more. He’s back, he’s not
going anywhere, so just let him make his own decisions right now.”

Mother’s eyes
became hard, her mouth set; John knew that look. She knew what was
best for her son, and wouldn’t let anything stop her from being a
mother now. But something in father’s words must have gotten
through, because she pulled back and let the doctor within her sphere
of protection.

One of the doctor’s
hands joined father’s on top of mother’s. “Mrs. Donalson, Mr.
Donalson, why don’t you two wait outside while I finish with John?”

“But—“

“Please, I think
it will be for the best.”

They both left,
with only token resistance on mother’s part.

The doctor flashed
John a conspiratorial smile. “I think you can handle this better
than anyone gives you credit for. The mind is incredibly capable of
stretching itself. Now, where was I?”

John fought back
the urge to try and remind her.

“Yes, you were in
Walter Reed, confused for Lieutenant Udarian. There, I am afraid,
you remained in a permanent vegetative state for some eight years.”

With great effort,
John remained calm.

“After some time,
however, the government felt that it was a wasted effort caring for
you, as you were unlikely to recover, and called for a consultation
with Udarian’s wife, who agreed that it was for the best that you
be moved to a private facility.”

Where was this
wife before? John silently demanded. Why didn’t she come
and out me as an imposter before all of this?

Almost as if she
had heard what John said, the doctor paused and backpedaled. “His
wife, Naomi Udarian, was present on the first night of your
hospitalization, and tentatively identified you as her husband. This
was of course, before the reconstructive surgery; after that, she
positively identified you as her husband.”

For the first time,
John registered the complete lack of any kind of mirror in the room.
He dreaded what would face him when he encountered one.

“Naomi visited
you several times, but her work overseas prevented her from constant
contact.” She paused and pushed her glasses back up her nose.
“I’m sorry, I’m rambling. Are you still with me?”

John blinked.

“Excellent.
Following the decision to move you to a private facility, your
records were re-examined, and small discrepancies were found, enough
so that your identity was called into question. It was then that
Mrs. Udarian herself discovered the key to making a definitive
identification, something that no one had thought of before. You
see, Lieutenant Udarian was raised in a rather conservative Catholic
household.”

John glanced
quickly down at the blanket covering his body and then back up to the
doctor.

She nodded. “It
was certain that none of the medical staff had performed the
operation, so…” She shrugged. “The only question left in my
mind is how no one noticed Udarian’s differences when he was buried
in your place.”

John tried to
shrug, but the movement was awkward and caused a bit of pain. A
sudden wave of tiredness washed over him, and he could feel his
eyelids drooping.

The doctor noticed
and gently patted his arm. “I won’t keep you much longer. I’ll
just finish by saying that with your identity confirmed, your parents
were contacted, and they immediately rushed to see you. It appears
that there presence has been most beneficial, as you are with us now.
Wouldn’t you agree?”

John tried to blink
in acknowledgement, but after his eyes closed, he found it impossible
to open them again.

When his eyes
finally did open again, there was his mother, trying to feed him.
The day continued, his mother feeding, his father occasionally
talking. Several times a nurse came in to check on him, clean him.

Life continued like
this for several days, endlessly monotonous. The only distraction
came when Doctor Shemuptura visited, bringing with her pain in the
form of exercises designed to help John regain muscle mass and
control. Within a week he was able to feed himself with only minimal
help from others.

The next month was
occupied with daily trips to a small gym, in which John was subjected
to hours of physical therapy, followed by time spent with in trauma
counseling, followed by one or two hours with his parents, followed
by sleep. And, in the rare case that he couldn’t sleep,
television. Every morning John awoke half dreading his daily
routine, half anticipating the advances he would make in his therapy
sessions: first sitting up, then standing, then walking short
distances. The progress came fast, as he didn’t need to re-learn
the skills, merely work up the strength to perform them.

It was early in the
month when John had his first encounter with a mirror. It was a
small hand-mirror brought to one of the counseling sessions with Dr.
Shemuptura.

“I’m sure
you’ve noticed by now that we’ve removed the mirrors from your
room, and have always avoided them when taking you to the gym, yes?”

“Yeah…”

She reached inside
a canvas bag and pulled out a paddle-shaped piece of green plastic.
“I’ve wanted to keep your recovery as simple as possible, and
wanted to keep stresses as few and far between as possible. I felt
it best to keep your new face from you until you were in a more ready
state to accept the change.”

John swallowed,
unsure of how to interpret the doctor’s words.

“Oh, no,” she
said, laying a reassuring hand on his forearm. “There is nothing
wrong with this new face. It is just different from what
you’re used to, perhaps a little hard to accept all at once.”

She slowly tilted
the mirror until John could see his reflection. He had been prepared
for a shock, but the face that he saw didn’t live up to the fears
that he had built. There were a few differences: higher nose,
thinner nostrils, little changes here and there. But for the most
part, he was the same. What did shock him though were the changes
that time had made. The skin around his eyes was looser and more
wrinkled; his lips sagged around the edges. He even noticed a few
patches of grey stubble around the edges of his shaved head.

“So… what do
you think?”

John shrugged.
“It’s me, I guess. Close enough, anyway.”

“You seem to have
taken that very well.”

“How else could I
take it? It’s my face.” He tried to sound calm, but his voice
wavered slightly.

“You seem upset.”

“I’m just…
old now, is all.”

The doctor nodded
knowingly. “Yes, nearly a decade of your life, gone. So much
time. Tell me: what will you do now?”

John thought
carefully over his answer, pondering his lost time.

“I guess I’ll
just have to make up for it anyway I can.”

The doctor smiled
and rubbed his shoulder. “That’s the attitude I want to see.”

Sometime after the
mirror incident, John was taken to one of his sessions with Dr.
Shemuptura and was surprised to find another man in the room with
her. He stood when John and entered and offered his hand in
greeting. “Mr. Donalson, It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!”

John glanced at the
man’s crisp green uniform, then at Dr. Shemuptura, who nodded and
beckoned to the man.

John accepted the
hand. “And who are you?”

The man forced a
smile and returned to his seat. “My name is Major Stephen
Polmelroy; I’m with the United States Army.”

“I’ve dealt
with the army enough thanks.” He rotated his wheelchair so it
faced the doctor. “So, what are we going to talk about today? How
to react when old acquaintances feel uncomfortable with us?”

“No, I’m
afraid our normal discussions will have to be put aside for today;
Major Polmelroy wants to talk with you.”

“But I don’t
want to talk with him.”

“He’s come all
this way, just for you. It would be rude to turn him out.”

“Arlington’s
only, what, half an hour away? I’m sure he won’t mind.”

For his part, the
major managed to remain quiet and keep the same pained smile stuck to
his face. This complete lack of obtrusiveness was what finally
forced John to shrug, say “Whatever you want, you’re the doctor,”
and turn his chair towards the major.

The major cleared
his throat and folded his hands in his lap. “Mr. Donalson, I’m
here, on behalf of the U.S. military, to offer our sincerest
apologies for the rather… unfortunate circumstances of the past
decade.”

“And that would
be what? Keeping me at Walter Reed?”

“Yes and no,
actually. While we’re more than happy that we helped to keep you
alive, and while we claim no responsibility for the unfortunate
mix-up that led to you being at Walter Reed, we do believe that it
was entirely our fault that we failed to ascertain your true identity
and return you to your family. So, we would like to officially
apologize to you and your family for any undue stress caused by
this,” he paused for a moment and scratched his chin, “mistake.”

“Mhmm.” John
absently rolled his chair back and forth. “So you were sent all
the way out here to say sorry? Is the price of stamps up too high to
send a note?”

The major blinked
and looked to Dr. Shemuptura for support, but she was busy examining
a file on her palm-top computer. “Well, as a matter of fact, my
superiors felt that in such an extreme case as yours, it was best to
take a personal interest—“

“You just don’t
want me to sue you for negligence and possibly kidnapping.”

The major sighed
and closed his eyes. “In not so many words, yes.”

There was a moment
of silence, broken by the sound of the wheelchair as it turned
towards the door. “Yeah, I’ll see if my dad still has his lawyer
on speed dial. Good talking to you Major Palmy—“

The major
half-stood and raised a placating hand. “There is of course the
matter of compensation.”

The wheelchair
stopped. “How much longer is this session, doctor?”

“Fifteen more
minutes I believe, although it can go longer if you feel that it may
contribute towards your health.”

The wheelchair
turned back into the room and the major resumed his seat. “Allright,
Major, perhaps I was a bit hasty in my judgment. After all, you did
take the time to come see me in person. Let’s talk.”

Something like a
smile, almost a sneer, crossed the major’s face. “I’m so glad
you feel that way.” He reached down and pulled up a thin screen
from a bag next to his chair. He poked at it for a moment, and then
returned his attention to John. “Well, seeing as how the primary
victim of our mistake was your family, we have decided to repay any
stress we may have caused them by completely paying for your expenses
while you are here at this facility. Also, they won’t need to help
you get back on your own feet after this; we’ll be paying you a
small stipend for the first two years following your release, as well
as providing you with appropriate housing.”

“How much is a
‘small stipend’?”

The major tapped at
the screen again, then passed it to John.

“Wow. That’s
yearly?”

“Monthly.”

Well, maybe it was
good that John hadn’t left yet.

“And ‘appropriate
housing’?”

“Well, we assumed
you’d be returning to Philadelphia…”

“That’s right.”

“So, we went
ahead and provisionally reserved a unit for you at Sky Crest Tower.”

There was no
immediate response to that; there was none that was appropriate. Sky
Crest Tower was, put simply, the most prestigious place to live in
Philadelphia. Over sixty stories of luxury apartments topping a ten
story stack of tenant amenities, attached to a massive mall that
contained some of the most expensive stores in the city. Sky Crest
was the eventual goal of every dreamer in Philadelphia. And, most
importantly to John, it was the building that had inspired him to
become an architect in the first place.

“I’ll take it.”

For the first time
in the meeting, the major’s smile seemed to be genuine. “What,
you don’t want to check with daddy’s lawyer first?”

“Fuck daddy’s
lawyers; this is too good.”

“I’m glad you
see it that way. And there’s more. To insure that you’ll be
able to become a constructive member of society as soon as possible,
we’ve talked Cohen and Associates into giving you your old job
back.”

“Okay, I’m
sorry, but that I can’t believe.”

If it hadn’t been
for Sky Crest Tower, John would have never thought twice about
becoming an architect. But if it hadn’t been for Cohen and
Associates, John never would have thought twice about Sky Crest. C&A
was to the architecture world what Sky Crest was to urban living: the
best. And in order to be the best, they only hired the best. John
had spent four years after college building up enough of a portfolio
and reputation to prove to C&A that he was the best, and he had
only been on the job for seven months when he had had his accident.
Even after his hard-won start, there was no way that the firm would
allow a relatively green architect a decade behind the times onto the
team.

“I’m simply too
out of it for Cohen; I’ll need to go back to college for at least
two years before I’m ready—“

The major waved off
his objections. “Things have changed since your accident. For
instance, Cohen is now one of the architectural contractors for the
government at large, and the army in particular. We hold some sway
over them.”

“So… I can
just drop in, just like that?”

The smile was
beginning to thin again. “Just like that.”

John tapped at his
armrest and stared absently at Dr. Shemuptura, who was still
engrossed in her palm-top. “What’s the catch?” he said at
last.

“Catch?”

“You don’t
apologize and then shower me with gifts without expecting something
in return.”

The major shrugged
and spread his hands. “We’re the army; we don’t need anything.
Just maybe—“

“What?”

“Well…” The
major tapped at the screen and held it protectively in his lap.
“Since we are going through the trouble of compensating you for any
damages caused by our… possible negligence, it might give peace of
mind to everyone involved if we knew there were no possibility of
legal action on anyone’s part.”

He held the screen
out to John and indicated a blank line.

John took the
screen and stared at it, then looked at the doctor. “Dr.
Shemuptura, how much time do I have left with you today?”

The palm-top
remained the center of her attention. “I’m afraid I’m needed
with another patient now. Perhaps it would be best to wait until
another time to sign the document?”

John grinned.
“Yeah, let daddy’s lawyer get his hands on it.”

He watched as the
major’s smile froze and the color drained out of his face.

A minute dragged by
in absolute silence. “Oh, what the hell?” John quickly dragged
his finger across the screen, writing his name. He passed the screen
back to the major and began to maneuver out of the room.

“Well, Major, it
was wonderful meeting you. Dr. Shemuptura, a delight as always.”

This time, she did
look up. “I look forward to tomorrow John. Say hello to your
parents for me.”

John had just
reached the door when something occurred to him. “Hey, Major,”
he called over his shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“What about
Udarian’s wife? She get a deal like this?”

“I’m afraid,
Mr. Donalson, that that is a confidential matter, and is strictly
between Mrs. Udarian and the United States Army.”

John shrugged, and
continued out the door.

After two months
consciously living in the hospital, John was back to normal enough
that he could move freely without the wheelchair. With this newfound
freedom, his days began to change. He now took himself to physical
therapy and went for walks around the grounds. Each lunch was spent
with his parents in the cafeteria, chocking down bland food while he
struggled through even blander small-talk.

His parents loved
him, it was true, but his absence had led them to treating him more
as a distant relative who had come for a rare visit: an enthusiastic
welcome, followed by an awkward silence as each party wished the
meeting would end. It almost came as a relief when one day father
announced that his work was beckoning him, and that he had to return
to Philadelphia. The next day he and mother left, promising to
return for John when he was ready for the journey home.

With his parents
gone, all John had to contend with was the bland food.

Following lunch, he
would go back to the gym for some general exercises to get him into
better shape, then return to his room and while away the hours by
catching up on news, or reading, or playing games on the internet;
anything to keep him away from his own thoughts.

One night, shortly
after his parents left, John was sitting in his bed, idly surfing
through the channels on his room’s wall-screen. An ad for toilet
paper, a music video, a sitcom, a cartoon; nothing interested him.
He kept flicking his fingers at the screen, and the channels kept
changing, spiraling on in a litany of boredom. He was just about to
shut off the television and go to sleep when something caught his
eye. He twirled his hand counter-clockwise, and the channels began
to descend. There!

On the screen was a
reporter, a young Latina with close-cropped hair and a strangely
frightening smile. For some reason, she looked familiar; the name
Suzanne kept rising in John’s mind.

Behind the reporter
loomed a massive wall that, based on the swarms of soldiers moving
behind her, must have been the Pentagon.

John signaled for
the volume to increase, then sat back and listened.

“—after more
than thirty billion dollars and fifteen years spent on this project,
most members of congress seemed pleased with the results of the ADI
Bill.”

The scene suddenly
shifted to an obstacle course in the middle of a field. John
expected to see footage of soldiers running the course but was
shocked to see what appeared to be hulking robots, human shapes
covered in grey armor, running, jumping, climbing, and in one case
breaking through the course.

“But all agree,”
the reporter continued in voiceover, “that the best thing to come
out of the research program is the Enhanced Human Ultimate Defense,
or E.H.U.D., combat system, unveiled at the Pentagon last week.”

The scene now
showed brief shots of different people, all identified by tags at the
bottom of the screen as either being senators or members of congress,
as they supported the reporters’ remarks.

“Oh, this bad boy
is going to turn the war on terror around!”

“I have
absolutely no doubt that, in terms of lifesaving mechanisms, the
E.H.U.D. is the greatest invention since the seatbelt.”

“Within ten
years, I hope we can have these ready for every soldier in the field.
If we can keep our own safe, then we don’t have to be so harsh
with the enemy. Think of a war where all we do is capture, disarm,
pacify, and leave. Clean and simple.”

The reporter
returned, again standing in front of the Pentagon. “But for all
the enthusiasm over the E.H.U.D., many members of the public have
been left wanting to know exactly how the system works.”

John certainly
wanted to know. Those things in the obstacle course looked heavy and
ungainly, but they were moving and maneuvering like Olympic athletes.

“The actual
mechanics and design of the system are of course classified.
However, the AmeriNews Network has been fortunate enough to be
allowed an exclusive look at the inner workings of the E.H.U.D.
combat system.”

The scene changed
again, this time to an interior space that seemed to be a cross
between a lab and a garage. A man of about thirty stood in front of
a locker, dressed in white t-shirt and shorts. He held up a thick
black one-piece suit. “This,” he said, “is the first layer of
the E.H.U.D.”

He began to pull it
on, entering through a slit in the front, then the scene faded into
the future and the man stood fully dressed, with a black hood pulled
over his head.

The man patted the
thick material covering an arm. “The main part of the layer is a
standard Gortex weave, able to withstand some good wear and tear,
with fiber-mesh quilting on the inside.” He then leaned in close
to the camera and shook a bit of the material. “But through the
middle of the layer you have packets of a special gel, normally
fairly sloshy, which turns tremendously solid when force is applied
to it.” He squeezed off a section of the suit on his leg, then hit
it with his other hand. The little node was as solid as a bowling
ball.

“If a soldier
gets hit with a non-ballistic impact, the attacking force basically
hits a brick wall, which then fades out into the surrounding gel,
blocking and absorbing most of the force, leaving little impact on
the man inside the suit.”

The scene faded
again and now the man held up a pile of rubber tubes and webbing.
“This is the next layer of the suit: the pneumatic sinus system.”
After a brief flurry of editing, the man was in the tangle. It
criss-crossed over him, trailing thin tubes that connected to
sturdy-looking bladders next to joints and along major muscle groups.
John noticed that there were also what looked to be medical braces
hidden under the sinuses, strapping the tubes close to the body.

“This is where
the system really shines,” the man says. He ran in place for a
moment, then crouched and jumped. The camera jerked upwards to
follow him as he flew into the air and flipped just shy of hitting
the ceiling. He landed in a deep crouch, and John could see the
tubes and bladders pulsing.

The man smiled into
the camera. “The pneumatic sinus system works with the body’s
own movement to pump fluid and build up pressure, which can be stored
and released in the normal patterns of moving. For instance, if you
bend your knee, you move the fluids in such a way that they are
sucked and stored in the bladders on the back of the thigh.” As he
said this he demonstrated. “When you straighten the knee, an
opposite suction is created in the frontal pouch, the fluid is
released, and it changes position, providing a significant blast of
power to the wearer’s simple, muscle-powered action. In addition
to the purely mechanical suction power, the system is equipped with
motion sensors that will also create suction and change the internal
pressure based on perceived moves, so you don’t have to force
movements; the suit works with you. With this on, a soldier need not
worry about chasing combatants, getting out of firing zones, or
dealing with battle-field rubble ever again.”

The camera faded
again, but this time the man didn’t hold up a part of the system
and explain it; he merely appeared, about a foot away from where he
had been, covered in a thick black suit, much like the first layer.
The shape of his body also appeared less human, more like the final
combat systems shown earlier in the report. “This layer here is
essentially like the first layer; it provides shock absorption and
protection to the wearer. Unlike the first layer, however, this is
meant to protect against ballistic impact.” He patted several
disproportionately large mounds that corresponded to muscle groups,
as well as several bulky areas between the mounds. “There’s
reinforced armor here, similar to flak armor: Kevlar and Gortex
fabric with ceramic plates. In addition to providing personal
protection, this layer also protects the sinus system from damage.”

There was another
camera shift, and now the man’s transformation was nearly complete:
he was covered in thick plates of what had to be armor, with straps
and buckles covering the seams and a large frill coming up to protect
the neck and parts of the head. “And here at last is the final
layer. Advanced body armor, covered in additional Kevlar and Gortex.
I’d like to say more about it but,” the man paused and smiled,
“I’m afraid that’s classified.”

He reached into the
locker behind him and pulled out a full-faced helmet. He slipped it
on over his head and turned back to the audience.

John felt a sudden
revulsion at this final change: the face was now a pair of dead
eye-slits and a grille of some sort where the mouth should be. The
mask was corpse-like and alien, yet at the same time weirdly
familiar.

The man spoke, his
voice clear but modulated. “The E.H.U.D. system is not only proven
to effectively protect soldiers against most small arms fire, it has
also been proven to protect its wearer from large calibers,
traditional armor-piercing rounds, weight loads in excess of half a
ton, and high yield explosives. With one of these on, a soldier is
no longer a mortal man. He or she is now an enhanced human ultimate
defense.”

Now the reporter
returned, walking in front of the wall of the Pentagon. “So there
you have it: the E.H.U.D. combat system. Promised to be able to save
untold lives on the field of battle, it has been fast-tracked for
mass production by several military contractors. Despite this, it
still may be years before it sees wide combat usage. Until then, it
will be deployed to National Guard forces all over the country, for
use in both peace keeping and disaster relief efforts. So, be on the
lookout for these battlefield behemoths in a town near you very, very
soon.” She winked at the camera. “And remember, no matter how
scary they may look, they’re here to keep you and the men and women
serving in our armed forces safe. For AmeriNews Network, I’m Maria
Ruiz.”

A commercial
started, and John signaled for the television to shut off. He lay in
bed and thought about what he had just seen. The reporter had said
that this armor system was revealed to the public a week ago, yet
John couldn’t shake the feeling that he had seen the armor
somewhere before, and he was also sure that he had not seen
the first reports on them.

But as he began to
think about it more, he realized that the unveiling may have occurred
on one of the nights that he had forgotten to turn of the television
before falling asleep; it had happened several times, and he was no
stranger to AmeriNews.

Yes, that was a
good explanation. John signaled for the lights to turn off, then
closed his eyes and tried to sleep.